sleep paralysis demon x you || no gendered terms or anatomy
tw: Non-con, somno, intox
Your sleep paralysis demon doesn't have to feed on you. He could go anywhere. He's only limited by the number of sleeping souls nearby. Which is to say, he isn't limited at all.
He tells himself this as he slips into your room for the fourth time this week, sliding through cracks in doorways and windows in dark, shadowy tendrils.
He doesn't need you, he thinks, as his shadow pools above you. Watching you breathe. The hot skin of your neck, stretched out as you doze lightly. The soft noises you make as the temperature in the room drops from his presence.
He doesn't need you. But he's here anyway.
He doesn't know what want is. He's never wanted anything.
So he mistakes it for hunger.
His body materializes on top of you at once, fast and heavy. His long, taloned hands are on your forearms before he's even fully physical. And his third tongue, the tendril between his legs, is already throbbing.
So hungry.
You don't even stir. You're still out. Did you take a sleeping pill tonight? Oh, good. He grabs your underwear and shoves them down, just as far as your knees.
The skin between your thighs is so soft. His tongue can't resist licking there. It tastes like salt and the warm blood thrumming under your skin. Your body is responding to his touch, the licking, even in sleep, and there's a honey sweet stickiness leaking there that he laps up.
Your body reacts to that, too.
This is when you begin to rouse. Groggy and blurry. Completely unable to move as the monster above you licks at the needy, aching spot between your legs.
What is that feeling? It's long and thick. You can't look. You can't even gasp as the dark blur above you grabs at your jaw and forces it up toward him.
Cam usually isn't this desperate. But he's so hungry. His jaw unhinged automatically. One of the two tongues he keeps in his mouth escapes to find its way into yours. It's so big, it fills your mouth and inches toward your throat.
So hungry. His bottom tongue is now seeking more as well, lapping in long, curious circles to find an entrance.
Hungry.
He lifts you by your thighs and finds one: a soft, warm hole to fill. With your mouth still full of hot, thick muscle, you feel the bottom tongue slide in without any warning, all hot and slick.
You'd choke on the tongue in your mouth if the creature hadn't paralyzed your throat. It was nice and relaxed while you slept. A perfect time to lock you down. Now, he consumes you from two sides with his long, shadowy tendrils.
Taking. Hungry. Hungry. Pressing in deeper. If only you could scream.
He doesn't stop when the sensations becomes too much, when - much to your horror - your body writhes and spasms with pleasure underneath him. He continues even through your trembling waves as you cum. Once. Then again. And then, even though it's too much, you can't take more, you cum again.
It only makes him hungrier. God, darling, he's starving.
Cam is your sleep paralysis demon. He feeds on energy when you're unconscious, so he can't do his job when you're not asleep. Which means your insomnia is a huge fucking problem for him, actually, darling!
one night, after feeding, when you've fallen asleep reading your favorite book again, he picks it up. he's curious, naturally. you read it all the time. he wants to know what you like about it so much.
he flips through the pages and imagines reading it to you as you fall asleep. that way you won't fall asleep with the light on, the book still open to the side. you won't lose your place.
Maybe you'd fall asleep faster that way.
He places the book on your bedside table and clicks off the light.
sleep paralysis demon x you || no gendered terms or anatomy
Sequel to this post
Your demon hasn't been back in a while. And you're doing great.
In some ways, it's a relief. The night terrors are gone. You no longer wake up in the middle of the night nearly suffocating under Its weight. You haven't slept this well in years.
But you're an inconsolable, desperately needy mess. Because nothing has ever felt as good as that thing's third tongue between your legs.
You're doing great.
But your body misses It.
You spend your nights desperately seeking release. Your fingers and hands stroking your own thighs, your own nails gripping your sensitive skin there, leaving marks. Scratches you make yourself. Self inflicted bruises that aren't the same as the fingerprints It left behind.
And the toys, of course. Filling every hole you have with toys of every shape and size. But they're not the same, not even the monstery tentacle one you bought in a moment of weakness, hoping to fill the emptiness inside you with silicone.
Not that you don't try.
You're trying tonight; you're riding the tentacle, hand between your legs to stroke the sensitive spot there. You're absolutely dripping with need. It leaks everywhere; onto your hand and between your thighs, slick and humiliating.
More humiliating is the saliva spilling from your mouth as your deep throat the toy suction cupped to your wall. You chase the thought of the creature's appendages - its tongues, licking and writhing - filling every inch of you, white hot and blinding next to this pale comparison.
But you're so desperate. You let out a choking moan even as this, too, falls short of what you really need. You're a pathetic mess. You can't cum enough.
At least no one is watching. That's the upside. No one can see what a useless little slut you've become for this creature.
Right?
You're so far gone, you don't notice the figure in the corner. The dark eyes flashing. The long tongue hanging out of its second mouth between Its legs like a panting animal, hot and wet and drooling.
He travels like shadows, like wisps of smoke, tendrils through cracks. When he manifests, though, he prefers a form something like a man.
But there's too much of him, and it's hard to hold, so he's not quite right. A bit too tall, too spindly. Thick at the shoulders and too small at the waist.
His eyes are dark. His smile too wide, his teeth too sharp.
And then, of course, there are his tongues.
He has three.
The first time you feel his third tongue - his bottom tongue, his below tongue - you don't know what it is. Paralyzed under your demon, you can only feel it. The writhing against your thigh, lapping at the hot, sweaty skin there.
You can't even scream. You wish you could; maybe then he'd know you like how it feels, i spite of the fear. (Because of the fear?)
But you can't. You're frozen, and his tongues slide into your mouth and down your throat.
Your sleep paralysis demon is the reason you're so lonely and sad and pathetic.
He drains you too much. It causes all sorts of issues for you, like chronic pain and mood disorders. You'd be more nutritious if you were healthier, but he just can't help himself. You taste so good. He tries to stay away, but he finds himself at your window, seeping through the cracks like smoke and materializing over your body, heavy and strong.
You're so warm underneath him. Your skin is like fire beneath his clammy mouth and tongue. He takes what he wants from your mouth, forcing it open. His tongue probes your mouth, filling it, drinking your flavors like wine.
And when you moan in your sleep, your exhausted, pitiful body protesting as much as it can, it makes him want something else.
Your sleep paralysis demon doesn't know what sleep actually is. He understands it about as much as you understand why cicadas cry, which is to say, not very much at all. All he knows is that you need it.
And he needs you to have it. Good sleep. He wants that for you.
He can't eat if you're not sleeping, after all.
It's not because he likes how you look when you sleep, peaceful and open. It's not because he watches you breathe, from the window, from the corner, from the edge of your bed. It's not so he can touch your skin without feeling you tense under his fingers, against his body.
Cam is a gentleman, but he's a monster by trade. His day job - his night job - is sleep paralysis demon. It's good work, if you can get it.
He only drains a few people at a time. It's a balancing act; he enjoys the taste of a lonely insomniac the most, and he would feast on the same human forever if they tasted sweet enough. But too few victims and he'll drain them dry in months.
Best to take his time.
He is patient.
So when Cam slips into your room at night, waiting for your drug of choice to escort you gently to sleep, you've never noticed before. You've never seen his long, dark body - so long as to need to twist to step through the door - stepping to the door of your bed. Never noticed his long arms as he crawls on top of you.
God, you got so fucked up, just to sleep. Your eyes are open, but you don't even see him, hunched over you and gently working your jaw open with two long talons. You can't feel the pads of his fingers on your tongue, or his gaping, too-round mouth attach to yours. When Cam begins to consume you, and you feel the lightheaded rush, you think it's just the drugs. Or the booze.
What did you take tonight, again?
You've never felt his hard body against yours, either. Just as well; Cam doesn't care about your comfort, and his tall, spindly form is heavy. He presses down hard when he feeds, letting out a rattling groan into your mouth. Your body responds the way bodies naturally do when pressed into a soft mattress by a large creature: sweat, and heat, and adrenaline. You'd probably panic if you weren't so fucking wasted.
You often make strange noises beneath him that Cam doesn't understand.
He likes them.
He doesn't understand that, either. Or why he likes your warm, squirming body beneath his. He takes more than he should, just to feel your body instinctually twist and turn against his own.
When he's done feeding, Cam makes sure you're tucked in tight. Lying on your side so that if you get sick, you don't choke.
He needs his food source healthy.
You always wake with a sore jaw and bruised lips. You don't remember why.
